


soul[less]mates

by QueenOfCards (taesuganme)



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11073018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taesuganme/pseuds/QueenOfCards
Summary: In which Undertaker sheds a tear or two





	1. Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> this is my celebratory pic for 10 subscribers! love y'all~!!!

The tall silver-haired gentleman leant languidly against the iron railings outside the music hall, surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans. The noise of their raucous chatter was deafening to his ears, but he didn’t betray his pain, his signature smirk still adorning his face. After all, he was there for a reason.

He wasn’t going to leave tonight without the most beautiful girl in the crowd by his side.

Yes, Adrian Crevan was an outrageous flirt, but still the most charming man in all of West London. He was renowned among the women of London as the man with the deep voice and gentle hands, and known among the menfolk as the wife-stealer. Once a woman was caught within his charms, she would never leave; forever enthralled with his manner; intrigued by the unusually coloured hair that contrasted with his eyes, the many earrings that pierced his ears and glittered in the dusky light of the early evening, and the strangely attractive scar that crossed from his left eye to below his right ear.

But today, as Undertaker searched the crowd for a beautiful girl to spend the evening with, he noticed a pair of grey-ish eyes at the very back that caught his attention. Something about their owner’s expression seemed familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. He watched the girl for a while, but she soon disappeared from his sight and he brought his attention back to the crowd.

But now he looked at them and realized that he didn’t want to go out with anyone, beautiful or otherwise. Without further hesitation, he swept the crowd aside and strode away, disregarding their surprised cries and pleading wails.

The grey-eyed girl had distracted him, and he wasn’t going to entertain or be entertained by anyone that evening, not when something else was on his mind.

 

~~***~~

 

A few days later, Undertaker had completely forgotten the incident, and was walking down the street that lead to the music hall he liked to haunt sometimes. He was thinking of visiting the Phantomhive household and maybe stir things up a bit by mentioning the name of a corpse he’d come across recently, when he was stopped in his tracks by a smell that set his pulse racing.

Clearly no-one else could smell it, or they’d be running around like headless chickens trying to find a doctor, but to him, it was a smell so strong and so familiar, that he decided to change his destination, and headed for the nearest alleyway.

Eyes adjusting instantly to the shadows, he quickly rounded a corner, but almost fell over in shock.

The scent of iron filled the air, and it didn’t take long for Undertaker to recognise the face of the figure curled up a foetal position at the very end of the alley. It was the girl he’d spotted a few days previously, and now he understood what it was he’d recognised in her expression.

It was the hopelessness and lifelessness that had driven her to this moment, and the same feelings he remembered had driven him to a similar moment countless years ago.

He stood and watched with blank expression but wet eyes as blood seeped through the girl’s worn clothes and spread slowly across the ground towards him, darkening as it dried. He took in the long dark brown hair that fell in a thick plait, and the glistening tear-streaked cheeks. He clenched his jaw as he noticed the grey-ish eyes he’d noticed first before were now firmly shut but still letting out fresh tears.

With a deep, shuddering breath of his own, Undertaker looked around for any other Reapers that might be lurking, but as he suspected, there were none. Reapers never attended suicides. Their job was to reap the souls of those who died from any circumstance except this.

Those who killed themselves, died alone. It was the beginning of their punishment.

And tomorrow, this girl would be joining the ranks of Shinigami. There was no saving her, Undertaker knew that, and no stopping her becoming a Shinigami. But for now, he decided, he could keep her company. After all, he understood. He’d been there before.

He walked up to the dying girl, and seated himself on the ground, ignoring the blood that seeped into his clothes without hesitation. He gently lifted her body into his arms and turned her face to meet his gaze. He bit his lip to stop it trembling, but couldn’t stop a tear from dropping onto her pale skin. She never opened her eyes, but he continued to hold her through the weak choking and feeble struggling against invisible monsters. He stroked her dark brown hair even though he was sure she wouldn’t feel it, and dabbed her bloody arms with the edge of his cloak even though the blood never stopped flowing.

Eventually, she breathed her last breath, and Undertaker stopped holding his. He pressed a chaste kiss to her red knuckles, then laid her gently on the ground. Before he left, he brought out a small pair of scissors and cut a small lock of her hair.

He made his way home under the cover of the approaching evening shadows, and when he arrived, the first thing he did was get out a new locket, and place the lock of dark brown hair in it.

“Poor child,” he murmured to himself, “she was hardly fit to be a Shinigami.”

 

~~***~~

 

Halfway through the night, Undertaker made up his mind.

Shrugging on his cloak and picking up his Death Scythe, he headed back to the alley where he’d watched a girl die only a few hours previously. He hoped the process wasn’t completed yet, or he’d have more than a bit of trouble trying to get his way.

When he got to the alley, he found the air glowing slightly green, and he took it as a good sign. He’d seen several transformations before now, and this meant he had a few minutes before the girl was relocated to the Reaper newbie dorms. If the right Reaper came down to pick her up, he’d only have to offer them a bribe, and she’d be free. If it was the likes of William, he’d have a bit more of an issue. But at any rate, it’d be nothing to the fight he’d had keep his scythe. This girl wasn’t yet even registered on the Shinigami Register, so as long as he could keep her from being added, she’d have her Scythe and no-one would come to claim it, even know that she existed.

When he came round the corner for the second time, he was pleasantly surprised with the way the transformation had changed her appearance. Her hair was now a shining mass of midnight blue, and her old grey gown was now an elegant silvery one. Her eyes were still closed, but he didn’t need to see to know they’d be brilliant green, just like his own. Short-sighted, yes, but beautiful none-the-less.

Seconds later, a figure appeared beside the girl, and Undertaker recognised him instantly as Grell. He’d recognise the shark toothed, red-cloaked man anywhere. Thank goodness it wasn’t William.

He stepped forward.

“What a coincidence, my friend,” he said smoothly, suppressing a smirk at Grell’s guilty flinch.

“What brings you here, beautiful?” Grell replied, regaining his composure without too much trouble and sending a flirtatious wink in Undertaker’s direction.

Fortunately Undertaker, a flirt himself, was more than immune to Grell’s charms, particularly around the sapphire haired girl.

“It just so happens I wish to make a deal with someone such as yourself. How much would you ask for a name _accidently_ not written in the Shinigami Register?”

He stepped closer to the two. As Grell was a much newer Reaper than himself, he was likely not as familiar with the possible repercussions of being caught making such a deal, and Undertaker was swiftly proven right when Grell’s face lit up.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” the redhead started, looking the older man up and down with a critical eye, “perhaps it would be worth quite a bit… what about a date?”

Undertaker tilted his head in feigned thought.

“Maybe that’s a little too much, my friend. After all, it _is_ quite a small thing to ‘forget’…”

“But-“

“However, I’m sure I could arrange a date with our ‘dear Sebastian-chan’ for you. How does that sound?”

Grell nodded enthusiastically and stretched out a hand. Undertaker watched him carefully, before shaking his hand.

“It’s a deal.”

~~***~~

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Undertaker is beginning to wonder what he's done... and why.

Undertaker found himself frequently glancing back towards the curtains in his 'workshop', thinking of the girl lying there asleep, while he worked. It was easy to laugh at the frailty of human life, and find amusement in the most morbid things, but somehow this 'baby' Shinigami in his back room made his laughter falter.  
The first few years he had spent as a Reaper had been the toughest, as he'd been plagued with memories from before. Like most Shinigami, Undertaker had silently suffered under the weight of his memories. His own cinematic record spun constantly before his eyes, and the pain he'd felt before he died manifested in his 'new' body as well. It only began to lessen as he started to reap souls, and although it didn't go completely, he was able to breathe much easier.  
He just hoped the girl he was trying to help didn't shatter under the same pressure. He didn't know what happened if a Shinigami tried to kill themselves. Well, he'd tried, a long time ago, but he didn't know at that point that only Scythes can kill Reapers.  
Undertaker gently laid down the female corpse he'd been arranging, and stood up. The room was beginning to get dark, as the days were getting shorter, so he started to light some candles.  
The lazy flicker of the flames gave the room a peculiar warmth that he'd forgotten how to enjoy. After all, he didn't really feel pain or cold much anymore, being technically immortal, and he didn't need much of the necessities that normal human beings do. Undertaker gazed solemnly round the workshop, trying to see it the way his new charge might. He  looked at the grey shelves of cobwebbed urns and vials, the shining stacks of new, empty coffins and the many glass jars containing varying kinds of internal organs, preserved in amber-tinted liquid. Maybe he ought to do a little tidying?  
Immediately he dismissed the thought. Really the biggest concern was the dropping temperature, not the level of griminess the gravestones have gotten to.  
After all, new Reapers tended to be particularly sensitive to low temperatures to begin with, that was why they always had separate dorms to the rest of the older Shinigami. He'd have to be extra careful to keep the rooms at a constant warmth, even with the winter approaching. Somehow, he'd taken this challenge on, a little unthinkingly, and now he was going to see it to the end, regardless of the cost. He'd gotten attached to the dark-haired girl.  
He didn't dare admit to himself just how attached he'd become.  
  
Two days later, Undertaker was passing the back room, nibbling his biscuits thoughtfully, when a small sound caught his attention. He paused to listen for a moment, but was unrewarded. Shrugging, and blaming it on the resident spider community, carried on. He was rearranging a new corpse's scrambled innards when he heard it again. He hurriedly finished the job, wiping his hands on his clothes, and made his way over to the faded velvet curtains that hid the young Shinigami. Resisting the urge to comb his bangs further over his eyes, he nervously pulled a curtain back to reveal the smaller room.  
He spied dark hair still tumbling like a waterfall over the edge of the bed, and as he crept closer, he noticed the girl's chest rising and falling much more peacefully than when he'd laid her there. Undertaker lit another candle, and placing it on a candlestick near the bed, crouched closer.  
He'd never felt further from laughter.  
All the time he'd spent in agony, reliving tortuous memories and suffering in his post as Reaper, he'd laughed madly, laughing as he went from insanity to beyond. All the Shinigami had known him as either the greatest Reaper in Shinigami history, or as the mad Reaper who laughed at pain and giggled at suffering.  
Now, every giggle died in his throat. A tear made its way down his flawless cheek, and he gently took hold of the pale hand closest to him. Somehow, this girl meant more to him than anything else. Even though he barely knew her, and she likely was completely unaware of his existence, he felt strangely compelled to protect her. Maybe he unconsciously knew she was kindred spirit; alike in mind and feeling. Maybe it was the fact that he had witnessed her demise which so closely mimicked his own. Maybe it was her understated beauty that had caught his eye, long before he'd come across the scene of her lonely death.  
Whatever it was, Undertaker swore to himself that he would do his utmost to guard her from the tragedy that had touched her before.  
All of a sudden, he realised the girl was  moving, sleepily pulling her hand from his loose grip and weakly dragging the threadbare coverlet closer to her chin.  
Undertaker looked on, startled by the movement. Internally, he scolded himself for being so jumpy, and resolved to keep watching until the young Shinigami waked.  
Before long, the girl was moving again, and he watched in surprise as she curled up into a foetal position, and her thumb made its way into her mouth. Without thinking, Undertaker moved to take it out again, but as he took hold of the offending hand, his own hand was grabbed, and before he knew it, his thumb was being sucked.  
Undertaker froze. Unable to process the situation, he stayed motionless, and tried not to blush at the sensation of the wet heat around his thumb. Despite his experience with women in all kinds of situations, nothing had prepared him for this. This was completely new territory, and he didn't have a single clue how to deal with it. Something in the back of his mind whispered that he liked it, that it reminded him of his baby sist-  
"Undertaker? Are you in?"  
A call from outside rescued him from the impending flow of memories, and he reluctantly and gently replaced his thumb with the pale one belonging to the girl herself. He was vaguely surprised she hadn't been woken by the sound, but guessed he shouldn't have been. Undertaker stood, and composed himself. He hoped he wasn't still blushing.  
  
The young Earl Phantomhive and his butler had just left, after a pretty routine inquiry about some more of Undertaker's suspicious clients (apart from the odd raised eyebrow towards the curtain from Master Butler occasionally- which he coldly ignored), when another knock came, and he put down the biscuit urn again with a sigh.  
"I've come to visit," came the voice of Lau, his smiling eyes seeming to see beyond the velvet curtain the moment he stepped in.  
"Indeed, you have, my friend," responded Undertaker, hiding his apprehension behind a teasing grin, "have you come to entertain me with more of your oriental 'jokes'?"  
Lau mirrored his smile, slyly replying, "I was going to, but it seems you have something more exciting and interesting to say."  
Internally, Undertaker sighed. He should've guessed his secret would have been discovered this easily. Nothing ever seemed to evade Lau, no matter his nonchalant front. Externally, Undertaker said,  
"Indeed I have not, apart from mentioning that our dearest friends the Earl and Master Butler have left not half a minute ago, regarding a certain case of deaths around this area. What would you say to a cup of tea, my friend?"  
Lau's expression stayed unchanged.  
"I would say nothing, but that I hope you intend to explain why there is a Shinigami hiding within these walls."  
Undertaker resisted the urge to swear under his breath.  
"Perhaps I will, but I must remind you that I know much of your dealings with the Underworld, and suggest you think carefully what you ask me." He stared knowingly back at the man, hoping he'd take the hint. Unsurprisingly, Lau did not.  
"I'm sure you do not mean to threaten me, friend. I merely ask for sake of curiosity. And is it wrong for me to be concerned for the well-being of my close friend?"  
Undertaker let out a bark of laughter. He didn't reply.  
"Spill it, Undertaker. We both know you're hiding something, and I'd prefer if I didn't have to work it out myself."  
"Okay," mumbled Undertaker reluctantly, pouring some tea despite Lau's protests, "but it's a long story, so you may as well sit down over here."  
Lau hesitantly seated himself on the most solid-looking coffin (having first checked it was empty) and accepted a cup of tea, although he didn't take a sip until he'd seen Undertaker have one first. His tea was in a cup, because after his first visit to Undertaker's workshop, he didn't trust the man to offer him anything but unhygienic receptacles. The beaker had been bad enough to convince him that bringing his own tea cup was clearly the best option.  
"It all began when I smelt blood on Monday evening, on my way home from the music halls..."  
  
"...so that's why she's here." Undertaker finished, taking a bone biscuit from his biscuit urn. He wasn't confident Lau wouldn't spread the information, but since the man wasn't already shouting it from the rooftops, his prospects seemed bright.  
"So you're saying... you kidnapped a Shinigami... and bribed another Shinigami to keep it a secret?" asked Lau, teacup hovering inches away from his mouth.  
"Well, I wouldn't put it like that, but yes. According to the records, she doesn't exist. She died from fatal wounds and blood loss, and was reaped by Grell Sutcliffe at 11:14 on the 22nd of November, as far as anyone is concerned."  
"Wow..." said Lau, sitting back, "and all because you have a crush," he finished, smirking as Undertaker's grin dropped.  
"I do not have a-"  
"Yes, you do. Admit it. Why else would you do all that?"  
Undertaker sighed in response. He already agreed to Lau's reasoning, but admitting it out loud in someone else's hearing...  
Absentmindedly, he reached for another biscuit, only for his fingers to hit the bottom of the container, and flinched in surprise. Lau looked on in amusement as the older man looked into the urn with puzzlement written all over his face. Undertaker tipped the item upside-down in futile hope  that biscuits might materialise out of the emptiness. Nothing fell out, except for a few crumbs, and Lau had to stifle a snigger.  
Undertaker mournfully replaced the lid, before noticing the other man's amusement.  
"What are you laughing at?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.  
"Nothing, nothing," Lau grinned, "I just can't believe someone like you could eat so much without noticing!"  
Undertaker sighed and rolled his eyes. His friend might not tell people his secret, but he clearly was going to be in for some long-term teasing. Thankfully, this particular session of teasing was ended early, because the light was fading fast, and the two men both had things to do.  
"Well, I  wish I could stay longer," began Lau, "but I've got plenty to do this evening and I simply must get going. Good evening, Undertaker."  
"Good evening, friend. Greet our friends at the Halls for me, when you pass."  
"Indeed, I shall. Good night."  
And with that, Lau was gone, and Undertaker was alone.


End file.
